


The List

by Delenn (goddessdel)



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 05:32:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1732895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessdel/pseuds/Delenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles I've written for Angel over the years. Various lengths, pairings, ratings, topics.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The List

**Author's Note:**

> Note that I haven't gone back and edited these, and they were all written a very long time ago. Some in first person. Hopefully any redeeming features will make up for the lack.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel's thoughts during "A Hole In The World" over Fred and what he can and can't do to save her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post "A Hole In The World" 
> 
> Warnings: None
> 
> Pairing: None
> 
> Rating: PG-13 for angst
> 
> Date Started/Finished: February 26th, 2004

I'm going to hell for a lot of things.

Unspeakable torments lay in store for me at the end of the day.

I should know. I've been there.

I escaped hell once, next time they're not going to let me go.

There's no doubt that when my work here is done the only thing waiting for me will be fire, brimstone, and all the other cliché tortures that people use to describe hell.

Of course, it's indescribable, which is why humans and demons alike resort to such silly expressions for it. Hell is just.... hell.

Once upon a time, I had delusions of being saved, earning my redemption from that end. Figured if I worked and bleed hard enough for the "good fight" then I wouldn't have to go back to hell.

Conveniently, I forgot about the list.

All those unspeakable things I did to so many innocent and pure people. All the travesties that my own creations did. All of it, on one nice little list, written in my blood, which goes on and on.

There is no escape from hell for me. I've earned my special spot there, and now the only thing left is to try and make up for it so that for my remaining time _here_ , undead, I can live with a little less guilt.

Nothing's going to tip the scale for me. No matter how many times I save the world, there'll always be that list.

So, yeah, I'm going to hell. For a lot of things.

But there is one that I wouldn't mind being remembered for, wouldn't mind securing my eternal torment for...

Winifred Burkle.

Of everything I've done, all the pain I've caused and earned, I would gladly go to hell for her.

To save her.

If somewhere on that list it read, "Allowed thousands of innocent people to die in order to selfishly save one Winifred Burkle," I would go face my dues with a smile on my face.

Because she'd be here, alive and healthy, getting what _she_ deserves.

And in this moment, I want to save her, even if it means damning myself, yet again.

So why am I still holding onto this railing, knowing that she's being boiled from the inside out at this moment?

Saving her would damn myself, not like anything would've stopped that.

No, what's holding me here is that I couldn't live with all those innocent people I'd be condemning to the same fate.

Fred is lost for a few thousands to remain pure and happy in a world they do or do not deserve.

It's the right thing.

The big picture.

Then why do I feel so… bad… for the one evil that won't ever be on my list?


	2. Holes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts during “A Hole In The World” over what it means, what else is broken, and what is and isn’t known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angel's POV during "A Hole in the World"
> 
> Warnings: None
> 
> Pairing: None
> 
> Rating: PG-13 for angst
> 
> Date Started/Finished: February 29th, 2004

“There’s a hole in the world… Feels like we ought’a known…”

He wants to say that there are holes in everything, but he doesn’t. Doesn’t say anything because he’s afraid that if he speaks then nothing will come out.

Or maybe he’ll just start yelling and never stop. He doesn’t know.

Stares into the pit through the world because he doesn’t know how he’ll ever face anyone else.

Doesn’t have all the answers, not this time, doesn’t have anything.

His companion doesn’t have the answers or the words either. He can tell by the way the normally animated blonde is now silent.

He wonders what would happen if he crossed the gap of the bridge and went over. If they shared his failure, shared their pain, and the loss.

It won’t happen. He knows that before he thinks it.

Because they’re too similar and still too different. They feel the same pain but express it so very differently.

There’s a hole through their relationship, however complicated and unfriendly, and it can’t be bridged as easily as this hole through the world has been.

Hole through the world, and they didn’t know.

Their friend is dying and they do know.

He thinks that it doesn’t matter, none of it, because they can’t do a damn thing about either problem.

He thinks that maybe there’s a hole through him. That place where he’s supposed to be able to cope, to keep going on and on, it’s missing right now.

Another hole.

Sobbing, he can hear it but won’t turn. Doesn’t want to see the holes wearing through perfect facades.

Doesn’t want to know that everything is broken now, even though he does know and wants to know why this had to happen.

They should leave. Leave the silence, leave the failure; leave the pain.

They stay.

Two opposite sides, backs turned, gripping the rails so hard that they should be breaking.

Suddenly he wonders if they mean to jump. He can’t say he planned to, but he can’t say he wouldn’t.

Find out what’s on the other side of the world, who really is looking back down at them.

Find out if it would kill them.

Maybe it would just leave some more holes. Not like he doesn’t have enough already.


	3. An Instant in Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darla and Angelus curled up on a couch as everyone is come home from a very fun hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Spike/Drusilla, Angelus/Darla
> 
> Warnings: Sex/Language/Violence: undertones/nope/mentioned.
> 
> Rating: R for sexual and violent undertones.
> 
> Date Started/Finished: October 3rd, 2003/December 22nd, 2003

He caressed the soft satin covering her skin from him, feeling the whalebones of the bodice and below it the shape that was distinctly his sire. A purr echoed in response to his touch and she moved closer against him, skirt crinkling as she moved in his lap. Her own hand was clutched against his shirt, over where his heart should be have beat.

Moving again, she lifted her skirt and straddled his lap, moving her hands to tangle in his hair and pressing her body so tightly against him that he could feel every inch of her, despite both their clothing in the way. She giggled at his slightly dazed expression and he growled, placing his arms tight around her waist.

At the same moment they both pulled, lips crashing together, grips so tight that her nails were digging bloody gashes in his scalp and he could feel whalebone cracking under his grip around her waist. Not breaking their kiss, faces shifted, fangs slashed, tongues caught drops of blood as they spilled into both mouths and hands released to slide down.

Her one hand stayed clutching his hair, but the other moved down between them, slipping down towards his belt buckle, while one of his hands also slid between their tightly pressed bodies to find one of her fabric covered breasts.

A loud war whoop and the door crashing in greeted this scene, effectively breaking up the mood. The kiss was broken, vampire faces shaken off, as they looked up at the intruders.

The first vampire, who had let out the war whoop, seemed slightly drunk and twice as exhilarated, he was carrying the other, female, and neither were taking any notice of the two vampires they had barged in on, too absorbed in their own kiss that was threatening to become more fairly quickly.

Bringing one hand down from Angelus’ hair and wrapping it around his neck, Darla demanded of the others, “What kept you two? It’s nearly dawn.”

More reluctantly, as Darla’s other hand hadn’t stopped it’s progress, Angelus slid both his hands down to her waist loosely, and regarded the two younger vampires. “And it better be good.”

Finally seeming to take some notice of the others in the room, Drusilla pulled out of Spike’s kiss and grasp, slithering to the floor and discarding her shawl and coat haphazardly before crawling across the floor towards her sire and grandsire, licking her lips appreciatively. “The birdie fell from the nest and got caught by the worms, while the snakes were hissing all about.” She giggled, eyes gleaming, “And the wolves in the shed, doing all sorts of nasty things to the lambs!”

Looking fondly after Drusilla, Spike shed his own coat and strode over to the couch next to Angelus and Darla, translating effortlessly, “What Dru here means is, we found these thieves right, and turns out they’d up and captured a princess. So we had a right nice little meal, then brought her, or what was left of the chit, back to her family and finished them off.” He paused to take in the scene around him, “Think she meant you all what with the wolf and sheep bit.”

Absently, Angelus reached a hand down and played with Drusilla’s hair from her spot now leaning against their seat. He motioned to the body of two beautiful, golden-haired, girls lying by the fire, “And they were such tasty lambs too.”

Shrugging delicately, Darla licked her lips as well and shifted enough to turn towards Spike and elicit a strangled groan from Angelus. Flashing a wicked grin at her great-grandchilde, she laughed, “Sounds like quite the time. And here we only caught missionaries.”

Whimpering, Drusilla pulled away from Angelus’ hand and settled big doe eyes on him, “Missionaries, say?” She sat back on her haunches, rocking slightly, “Daddy and grandmummy have been all a tumble without us, snakes in the woodshed!!”

Quickly noting the signs of Drusilla growing less coherent, Spike jumped off his chair and sunk to the ground behind his sire, getting his arms around her waist and heaving her up, ignoring her unwilling deadweight and settling back down on his chair with Dru firmly in his lap. “Hush now, poodle, I’m sure we can catch you some missionaries tomorrow if you want.”

Abruptly, Drusilla’s mood shifted and she caught Spike in a kiss, taking quite some time before she released him, with a wink and much more sultry tone, “My Spike, tastes all of sweets and they’re just for me!”

“That’s right, love,” Spike groaned, hiking Drusilla back up into his arms and standing, grinning recklessly at her giggle of joy, “All for you, all yours.” Halfway to the stairs, he turned back and winked at the other two vampires who were watching the exchange with amusement. “Right then, best be heading up now.”

Both vampires continued to sit in mild amusement until the younger pair had left and their giggles could be heard, muffled, from the second floor. After no more than a second, Angelus growled at the petite blonde on his lap, “Are you trying to kill me, darling, because there’d be easier ways.”

Turning back to her lover, Darla placed both hands on his chest and leaned back into the safety of his arms, before ripping his shirt open with one fierce movement that sent buttons flying in all directions. Leaning forward, so that her chest was pressed against his bare one and nibbling with blunt teeth at his neck, Darla lifted her hips and then slammed back down, murmuring appreciatively at his moan, “Precious, whatever gave you such an idea?”

And that was about the last word either vampire could get in for some time.


	4. Going to Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-AtS - a darker turn on Angel's view of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sex/Language/Violence: not really
> 
> Rating: PG-13 for angst
> 
> Date Started/Finished: December 11, 2005

The world is going to hell. _And I don’t care._ I just don’t.

I mean, why should I? I’m already going… why shouldn’t they join me, when they seem so determined? I got tired of fighting their battles and fighting them, for them.

I got tired of none of them understanding and of wondering _when they were going to learn._

Tired of paying for crimes I can never atone for and suffering, saving people who didn’t understand and never would. Who were going to go out the next night and do something just as destructive as they did the last.

Mostly, I got tired of being alone.

Of watching friends die. Until they lost belief, and I was the only one left. Not because I believed – because it had to have meaning, or all those lives, all those years would amount to nothing.

The nothingness, at least, is quiet. I’ve put in mental earplugs, and I can’t hear them anymore. Not that they’ve gone away – they never go away – but so that I can forget.

It’s like an elaborate game of pretend, and she knows that, of course. She always knows. But she stays quiet, so that we can rest.

The world is going to hell, and I’m letting it.

Instead of being out there, championing against the darkness that I _know, I know_ will win in the end, she goes out. And when she brings me _food_ , I don’t ask where it came from. And when she goes out, she doesn’t invite me to come.

It’s easier than fighting. With her. With them. With myself.

They can fight their own battles, for once. I already know where I’ll end up – with her – and if they choose to come with us, so be it. I can’t stop it. Can’t save them.

I’m done trying.


	5. Tainted Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On some, the cream silk robe would have looked too big on a petite frame with its fanned sleeves and full-length skirt. For her, it was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: I thought this up from the scene in the movie “White Oleander” where the mother is sitting on the roof of the building, and then I tweaked it and put Darla there instead. Any pairing you want, or none at all!
> 
> Warnings: Sex/Language/Violence: all in the interpretation but not really/nope/mentions of blood.
> 
> Pairing: It depends on how you view it.
> 
> Rating: Strong PG-13 or 14-A
> 
> Date Started/Finished: April 11th, 2003

On some, the cream silk robe would have looked too big on a petite frame with its fanned sleeves and full-length skirt. For her, it was perfect. Where she sat reclining on a ledge as though there wasn’t a three hundred foot drop just a trip away. What she loved, looking out over the night sky, a room with a view of the city skyline meeting stars.

Soft blonde hair accents her beauty as she turns as gracefully as a jungle cat. Her smile is inciting as she pulls you over to her, too fast for you to stop, but her eyes are cold. You know that if she let you go, you would fall into that deep chasm below. Soothed by her comforting words, you find solace in her iron hold on you.

_Don’t you fall, little one, you’ve been caught in the spider’s web, do anything for you; she’ll kill for you…kill you._

Her hands have been scrubbed clean, the unique robe covers the bloodstained gown, but her eyes are jaunted, all they see is red.

_Can you save her, save her from herself? From the things she’s done, can the blood be cleansed from her soul because she loves you?_

You want to try, to let your pain equal her redemption, but not if she’ll be torn from you. Chiding you lightly for your folly, she says you have to let go with nothing if you want to be brave.

Her grasp on you loosens and you claw helplessly at her but still she slips out of your arms. Now she’s plunging towards the ground, her robe blooming out gracefully around her.

_She loves you, loves you, how can you tell? Always out for herself, brilliant but deadly, never told you those loving words._

You see her splayed out broken on the ground, blood on porcelain, smiling at you, teasing eyes.

_Just one step into eternity, follow her; she’d die for you._


	6. Just Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Connor’s ghostly visit from Darla had gone a little differently, could she have scared him straight? Would the outcome have changed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Good. Evil. They're just words._ \- Connor, "Inside Out".
> 
> Notes: There’s no pairings. When the story refers to “her” or “she” some of them are different people; I think you can figure it out. Darla’s POV. Italics are something along the line of speaking out loud, but are open for interpretation; bold is first view of Darla before it becomes her POV.
> 
> Warnings: Sex/Language/Violence: undertones/nope/thought about.
> 
> Pairing: None
> 
> Rating: R for slight mentions of torture.
> 
> Date Started/Finished: April 4th, 2003
> 
> _“Don’t tell me what to think, because I don’t care this time. Don’t tell me what to believe because you won’t be there. Catch me when I fall…” From ‘Going Down In Flames’ by Three Doors Down_

**And now she chooses to abandon the sweetness she has been encompassed by thanks to the powers of her untimely visit. They think that she is all peaches and cream after a couple thousand years in hell. They want to believe that one little soul-induced self-sacrifice made up for a death toll up in the high thousands.**

For all knowing powers of goodness, they are unwavering in their stupidity.

She stalks over to the crying sickness that she remembers so achingly, the pain that she misses being the cause of. Not her own.

_There’s no good and evil?_

Why don’t you go get the chains, baby, tie her up, break out the whips. What method would you prefer? I can show you them all; teach you anything. Where to start?

Little murmurs of denial, he’s not going to torture her, not going to kill her. Yes, the words mean nothing but they do to him. Yet she’s managed to twist him all up inside, I’d admire her if she weren’t messing with what’s mine.

And he is mine. Make no mistake.

_Might as well, she’s going to die anyway, the methods all come to the same end. Let’s have some fun, baby._

You can be just like me, isn’t that what you always wanted?

Not like me, not like me, keep telling yourself that baby, you want to deny your soul, lead the lamb to slaughter? No, there’s nothing the same about us.

_No good, no evil just wonderful grayness, can’t hate me, can’t hate him, if we’re all in the middle. If you let her kill this weakling, you’re right in there with us._

So, where shall we start? Slice her neck; watch her bleed slowly like a stuck pig, squealing all the while? Better yet, turn her loose, go get the children; they scream louder.

But he’s not like that, would never do that, yet he’ll still let her. Not that I blame his mutated ideas, I wasn’t there to teach him strength, to not let anyone near your heart because all it brings is pain. Stuck with fathers who know nothing of the degrading feel of submitting your will night after night, watching your insides twist around until good is bad and bad is good. They don’t know anything, but now he knows nothing, my baby.

_I died for you. Are you going to forget that, forget that you owe me?_

I was a monster, and I didn’t die just to let another monster take my place. If I’d wanted that, I would have let you die and stayed there myself, I’m better at it than you anyway.

Now you turn into me. Well, that’s not acceptable, I won’t allow it!

Wavering, little images of pain seeping through that hardened exterior. So young, not able to hide from me, baby, I can see it all. The pain, the suffering, confusion raging inside of you; nobody you can trust.

_You can trust me baby, come lay your head on mother’s breast, take comfort in my cold embrace. Just do yourself one favor, don’t tilt your neck near my mouth because I won’t let stupidity live._

Feeling weak, confused, on your own? Get used to it, we’re all on our own, be strong in the face of it.

Or we could just stop her stupid whining with a knife-

I’m making him cry with the brutal ugly truth, but she made him cry inside with sugarcoated hateful lies. He’ll try to stop me, but there’s nothing to stop, I gave myself up for him, remember?

_I love you, do you see? Good, evil, I love you. I wouldn’t mind all this if I didn’t, now that I’m here to urge you on, but I will not allow you to destroy yourself for the sake of another monster._

If you go bathing in the blood of an innocent, watch out, the blood will bite you back.

At least we’ll get to spend some quality mother-son time together, long-term, because you’ll be coming to stay with me down there when your time is up. It’s fun, if you’re used to it. I imagine you’ll cry at first, when they skin you alive and spear your organs with hot pokers.

So, why don’t you go down this path, I’ve been there, I get it.

They’re just words, keep telling yourself that baby, so long as when she comes in with the knife and I fade out, you let that little girl go on her merry way, so long as you stay pure.

_Oh baby, they’re just words, come cry to me, let mommy hush your tears…_


	7. Redemption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is still here, good conquered evil, and everything is going according to plan… But what happens when the battle is over?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sex/Language/Violence: nope!
> 
> Pairing: None
> 
> Rating: PG-13 for angst
> 
> Date Started/Finished: March 16th, 2003
> 
> _“I’m so sick and tired of being admired, that I wish I would just die or get fired…” from ‘The Way I Am’ by Eminem._

It’s the simple things that are the hardest to remember.

Breathing, for one, every little second, in and out. Most take it for granted but it’s not natural to my body anymore, I have to focus on it, force myself to breathe. I wake up in the night, gasping, feeling my heart actually stop from lack of oxygen.

_Strangely, it’s comforting._

Eating, and other bodily functions, the hassles of being alive are constantly plaguing me. Showering, brushing my teeth, washing my hands, it’s all so constant, repeated, every other minute so the germs can’t live.

Not being able to sense things, to smell, my heart pounding in my chest with every breath I take, beating, so quiet I can’t even hear it most of the time.

_Not any quieter really; just that I can’t hear it._

Weakness, it’s like a disease, as she once said, humans are a disease. But I am one. A useless diseased human, destined to die worthless, contaminated, and weak.

Everything about fighting reminds me of that weakness; how I bend and I break. I bleed without healing; I become a liability instead of a fighter. Too slow to be of any use; not strong enough to take something down… never smart enough to stay out of the fight.

Now the demon is gone, no more curse, no fear of him sneaking out, none of his taunts.

_I feel alone._

He’s been with me so long; before I was even me… that I don’t know who I am anymore. Without the wrong, I fear I won’t know what’s right. And who am I? Am I that foolish boy I once was, weak and without morals?

All I know anymore is that the demon was a part of me still, and without it I feel lost, like a whole segment of my personality has been ripped from me.

_And it has, in a way._

Look at me, missing the mass murderer that lived inside of my head, plagued my mind with guilty thoughts. It’s true though, the demon wasn’t some other person that I had just heard about; he was me. I became him, and I retreated from him.

She once told me that you could only mold from what is already there, she hadn’t made me; she’d let me create myself. It never made sense until now.

Or maybe I’m just not making sense. Now that everything is normal, nothing is normal. I once left so she could be normal, have a normal life. Her life isn’t normal now and never was, mine is… but it’s not normal for me anymore, it’s just the opposite.

Tears were her first response when they came, she said we could have babies now and live happily-ever-after. I told her no. I couldn’t be her happily-ever-after when I don’t even know who I am anymore, what I am.

I’m human, right? That’s the deal; I get to live out a few human years.

_My redemption…_


	8. Pictures of Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up, Connor had often wondered about his mother. Imagined what she’d been like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: There are no pairings. A third person limited Connor POV, reflective, any time during season four/five. Double drabble (200 words).
> 
> Warnings: Sex/Language/Violence: none of the above.
> 
> Pairing: None
> 
> Rating: PG
> 
> Date Started/Finished: October 3rd, 2005

Growing up, Connor had often wondered about his mother. Imagined what she’d been like.

When he finally got up the courage to ask his father – Holtz – the stories he’d heard had been enough to stop his curiosity cold.

Later, once Holtz was gone and he’d found Angel, he began to wonder, silently, again. The questions brewed up inside until he couldn’t help but ask – horror stories or no.

“Tell me about her – Darla – my mother.”

At the question, Angel closed his mouth and turned away.

The next night, he was woken by a presence in his room. Before Connor could react, his father’s voice spoke; “Darla and I did terrible things together… but Darla loved you… more than was possible.”

Connor knew the story of his birth and her sacrifice from the others, so he waited for some piece of enlightening information. But Angel was silent for a long moment, until it seemed that he wasn’t going to continue. Then he rose and headed toward the door, “Sometimes… I wish she was here… to see you – that she’d seen you…”

Without a glance back, Angel left Connor to puzzle this new note of melancholy into the picture of his mother.


	9. Timing is Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little vignette from Darla’s POV concerning herself, the cheerleader, her darling boy, and the pathetic soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers: Up to ‘Epiphany’ and ‘Reprise’.
> 
> Warnings: Sex: The word, yes, the actions, no. Violence: Death mentioned. Language: Yes. Absolutely nothing worse then the show though, promise!
> 
> Pairing: Mentions: Darla/Angelus, Buffy/Angel
> 
> Rating: PG-15
> 
> Date Started: June 4th, 2002. 9:14pm. Date Finished: June 4th, 2002. 10:03pm.

Thinking, that’s all I really get to do anymore.

Being dead really makes me miss some things. Of course, there were things I didn’t have, even when I was alive. Now, all I can do is think.

Funny. You know, I’ve figured out where it all went wrong, back before the _soul_ killed me.

Sure, I could spend eternity wondering what possessed me to bring my boy that damn gypsy girl.

 _But I’ve already done that_.

No, that was a mistake, but a rectifiable one. I was impatient; you would think I had learned patience in four hundred years, but no.

I just couldn’t stand seeing my _Angel_ with that girl… the slayer, no less! I couldn’t face the fact that, even with his soul, my _childe_ would choose her over me. So I pushed him, made him choose.

And got myself staked for the trouble.

I knew all about the clause, I should have just bit my tongue, watched and waited. I knew he would fuck the damn cheerleader sooner or later, and that it would be his _moment of true happiness_.

I just couldn’t stand it. Angelus was happy with me. How could he no longer love me? I didn’t understand the quirks of the soul.

 _Human_ , that’s all the pathetic soul wanted to be, so how could he find true happiness with another vampire?

I should have bided my time. Then, when my boy had sex with that girl, had his moment of happiness, and my darling was free again I could have been there. I could have convinced him of the danger and whisked him away. She couldn’t have killed him, not if I were helping him.

He wouldn’t have been mourning me either; no destroying the world plots. William wouldn’t have helped the slayer send him to hell.

For, _make no mistake_ , Angelus was mourning me when he tried to send the world to hell. My precious loved me, and wouldn’t you want to destroy everything if you had killed the one you love? My boy, he never was for suicide, thought it a dreadful waste.

All I had to do was watch the pitiful soul in love with the slayer, watch and wait, and I could have watched the soul die.

But I just couldn’t stand it, so I acted rashly… Don’t get me wrong, all my plans are well thought out, I just never counted on _him_ killing me! And I screwed up everything.

 _He killed me_.

I came back. I lost so much power and strength being Drusilla’s child. And for what! To conceive a child I didn’t want? To inherit its ghastly soul! Spend eight months always craving blood? And then to kill myself to _save_ the human child I didn’t want to begin with!

Yeah, I’d say everything went down hill from my first death, at my creation’s hands.

I’m _fucking_ Darla! I didn’t give a shit about the soul, or the human child to begin with. And I go out, finally, not with some evil act worthy of my name, but with a sacrifice?!

All that maternal stuff was thanks to the soul in me, so I acted rashly then too.

Wanted to save the baby, save Angel, _save myself_!

I get to do a lot of thinking now. _Being dead does that to a person_.

The irony of it all, that one self-sacrifice made up for everything. _How fucked up is that_? So instead of rotting in hell, where at least I’d have something to do, I get stuck in oblivion.

No heaven, no hell. Just white nothingness that goes on for the eternity I have left.

  
_You see, timing is everything_.


	10. Definition of Happiness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The definition of happiness doesn’t count for the fact that love destroys you while hatred; hatred builds you up and keeps you safe. And in the end, hatred is all we have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sex/Language/Violence: Nah.
> 
> Pairing: None really.
> 
> Rating: Strong PG-13 or 14-A
> 
> Date Started/Finished: April 11th, 2003/October 7th, 2003
> 
>  _“Love humiliates you, hatred cradles you…”_ \- White Oleander

There’s just something about the whole idea of a curse with a clause that is disturbing. Curses are curses, either they work or they fail, but they are not meant to be removed, ever. But no, this curse has to have a clause.

What is that clause, you ask? Well, of course, it’s something ridiculous, something humiliating, something properly confusing as it should be.

One moment of absolute happiness and the whole curse goes poof.

Now the question is, whose happiness, because that’s a loaded word. There are millions of definitions of happiness, depending on who you are, what day it is, hell, what the last person that talked to you just said. Anything can change it, so again I ask, whose happiness?

At one point, it was the happiness of the actual curse, the damn soul that had been cursed upon my boy. That happiness was in the form of some stupid mortal. But what can you expect, it’s a curse, it doesn’t have taste.

Now, I bet the curse couldn’t find happiness with her, so you see, it all changes.

Wouldn’t you think the *demon* would be the one to have to find happiness? That would be hard for most. Not for me, but that is beside the point. No, what the demon wants doesn’t count, has nothing to do with the stupid curse. It could, but it doesn’t.

So, the soul gets to decide, well what would really make the soul happy? No demon. Hence the perchance for mortals. But nothing will really get rid of the demon, so then the soul decides maybe he’d be okay if the demon just shut up.

Now the soul, the very instrument of the curse, is unintentionally trying to end the curse to save himself and make the demon happy. This is the very reason witches should be hunted down and killed. They create stupid, elaborate, curses, when a simple, easy to remove one would have been enough.

And this whole idea of love being the key to absolute happiness that’s a complete lie; it depends on whose love they’re talking about. If they were really talking about the demon, then, well, stupid mortals would have nothing to do with it. No, they’re talking about the soul. But wouldn’t you think that if the soul had to be uprooted, it would be hatred that did it?

After all, the purpose of the soul was to keep the demon in check, so if the soul could feel perfect hatred, the kind that cradles you until all you want to do is rip that person to pieces, well, that wouldn’t have involved cheerleaders either. I inspired love in the demon and hatred in both the demon and the soul, and it should have been enough to undo the curse.

But no, the definition of happiness doesn’t count for that. Doesn’t count for the fact that love destroys you, makes you a shadow of your former self, willing to do anything to keep that love alive, while hatred, hatred builds you up and keeps you safe. Their definition, whoever they are, includes flimsy whims and fleeting emotions, but not the things that matter.

Some happiness that is, oh well, we’ll see how long that lasts the soul. And when it crumbles down, I’ll be there, to help the demon get out. Because after all, I hate the soul, and in the end, hatred is all you have.


	11. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darla doesn’t – can’t – trust men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> November 19, 2011. 486 words. Darla POV. M.

Darla doesn’t – can’t – trust men. After a couple of hundred of years of being used by them, she knows that with absolute certainty. While being at the Master’s beck and call has been infinitely more glamorous than her human life as a whore, it’s come with all the same demands. And a couple of new ones.

 

But when she first sees him, she knows she has to have him, and that scares her. Darla doesn’t get close to men. She uses them before they can use her and dumps the bodies afterwards. She’s not ashamed of who she is, what she is, but she’s not stupid either.

 

Men can’t be trusted.

 

But when she makes him hers, none of that matters. Oh, it’s still there, lurking, under the surface. She still can’t trust men. But him...

 

Him she trusts.

  
At first, it’s because he can’t hurt her. Not really. She’s his maker and he fears her wrath – as well he should. As she teaches him pains and pleasures beyond his previous imagination, he couldn’t hurt her if he wanted to, and he wouldn’t dare to try. Well, he wouldn’t try anything she wouldn’t like.

 

But then, it changes. He looks at her with such complete devotion, such lust and enthusiasm. And it’s more than that he can’t hurt her. He wouldn’t. He’d follow her to the ends of the earth, her darling boy, just to tie her up and fuck her when he got there... and she’d let him hurt her in only the best ways. He worships her.

 

At first, Darla thinks that it’s just because she has all the power. She made him hers so she can trust that he will always be hers to command and control. Hers to hurt, and not the other way around. But it’s more than that. She lets him protect her, and he wants to.

 

As much as they fight and fuck and bleed for one another, he wants to protect her. He knows who she was with the Master, knows what she was before, and he protects both the monster and the woman. Sometimes, in the midst of all the blood and bodies, when they’re exhausted from the fucking and carnage, he pulls her body against his and just holds her. She doesn’t always allow it. But just sometimes, Darla lays against his body and lets herself forget, just for a moment. He’s trying to erase all those who came before him – all those who thought she was their toy instead of their equal. It almost works.

 

It’s not until he’s gone that she realizes she loves him. She trusts him. It terrifies her. She wants to hurt him, to lash out instead. Because when he leaves...

 

When he leaves, it hurts more than any of the men who took what they wanted from her body and left. He took what he wanted from her heart instead.


End file.
